It Never Ends
by Fyrie
Summary: Star WarsHitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - the Death Star picks up an accidental passenger after a probability flux.


Standing at the wide viewport, alone, Vader surveyed the fourth moon of Yavin that was only now becoming visible around the reddish curve of the vast gas planet, a pale crescent of a world against the blackness of space. His hands were folded gravely behind his back, techs working feverishly at controls on all sides of the walkway.

It was doubtless that the rebel alliance knew of their approach by now and were most likely conjuring up some scheme in a desperate attempt to save themselves, something that Vader knew to be futile.

Shifting his weight on his feet, Vader's nerves were pulsing with anticipation at the very thought of crushing the rebels, whose small fleet would be no more difficult to wipe out than swatting away flies with a hand.

However, on the edge of his senses, he picked up a faint, unfamiliar sound, tilting his head. Around him, workers ducked more intently over their stations, but went entirely unnoticed as Vader focused upon the sound.

It was a voice, a low mumbling that was growing closer.

"What did I do to deserve this?" it was muttering in an utterly despairing voice. "Did I ask to be on that ship? Did I ask to get shoved into the probability flux? No… but does anybody care? Not likely…"

Slowly, the Dark Lord turned to see a white droid walking - no, there was more of a despondent shuffle about the way this droid moved – onto the bridge, gloomily shaking it's over-sized globe of a head. Triangular green optical sensors flickered around puzzled faces that were looking up at it from monitors.

"And now, everyone's watching… fine." It dramatically waved a black-fingered hand. "Stare, then. S'not like I can do anything about it anyway."

Stalking towards it, casting a curious eye over the smooth surfaces and gleaming finish, Vader was generally intrigued. In all his years, on all the star systems, he had never seen a droid with a design quite to the specifications of this one.

"What manner of droid are you?" he heard himself ask, with a child-like curiosity he hadn't felt since he had started building his first protocol droid years before.

The green lights flickered again. "I'm depressed is what I am," the droid said with a melodramatic sigh. "Brain a thousand times more powerful than any of these computers and what am I? A sodding walking answering machine…"

Vader would have quirked a brow. Most druids were quietly practical, speaking only when it was required of them, with the possible exception of a few protocol druids but this one seemed to have a defect that let it talk, as and when it wished, about whatever it seemed to choose.

"Your have a message for me?"

"Never for me, are they?" it mumbled. "You'll probably not like it, mind you." There was a deep, heavy sigh that could only be matched by the most tormented soul in the Imperial torture chambers. "Not my fault people always send bad news, is it? S'the way of the world."

"What, then, is this message?" Despite many of the command deck believing his calm voice to be masking irritation than many of them were feeling towards the miserable droid, Vader was actually genuinely amused at such a novelty.

"Never let up for a minute, do you?" The droid spread his hands, springy, black-shielded joints bending, making him sag despondently. "I suppose it's too much to expect a please or a thank you, eh?" Silence followed. "Thought as much…"

"The message?" Vader murmured again, folding his arms over his chest and taking a step towards the droid, which tilted back it's bulbous head to peer up at him.

A few of the older techs were slipping from their posts and hastily making their way from the command deck.

"That bossy bloke with the daft uniform says he thinks you should lead the attack squadron," the droid said, broad arms swinging aimlessly back and forth. "Don't know why. No one ever tells me anything that's going on, not even when they're sending me on suicide missions." He heaved another of those vast, cybernetic sighs. "Don't worry, Marvin, you won't be in the flux long enough for anything to happen, it's nothing to worry about… humans… I ask you…" He turned to start plodding back off the command deck. "And I believed them…"

Vader watched the droid disappear, his head tilted slightly, genuinely amused. He made a note to seek out this new brand of unusually realistically human droid after the rebellion was quashed, then started towards the door, his cloak swirling behind him.

If Tarkin wished him to lead the attack force, to let him fly as he had not done in battle for some time, then it would be his pleasure.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, somewhere in the upper levels of this ship he'd found himself on in the wake of a disastrous trip through a probability flux, Marvin was wandering along through the shiny black passageways, ignoring the frantic humans and squealing robots whizzing here and there.

His rubber-cased feet clomped along on the dark metal surfaces, the walls polished so highly he could see the reflection of himself, which made him groan miserably and stomp onwards, even when he could hear the sound of some kind of weapons and the ship rocked.

"Typical," he grumbled, turning into a passage which had one wall lined with plexiglass panels, allowing him to look out over the ship he was one. It was round, spiky and very badly designed. He could see at least a dozen flaws. Well, that was even more typical, eh?

Some kind of fighter ship went rushing passed the clear panel, closely followed by three bow-tie shaped black ones. Under Marvin's gloomy gaze, something dropped from the pale first ship, vanishing down a hole in the ship.

"Bloody aliens. Can't build anything properly." he groused, turning away from the vast, solid window. "Holes everywhere…"

He had gotten about four paces when the whole ship shuddered and gouts of flame flared beyond the glass behind him.

Tilting his head back, Marvin stared up at the ceiling, which was starting to crack, then down at the floor, which had a matching pattern of flames licking through it. "It never ends," he mumbled, as the Death Star imploded.


End file.
